


Sweetly Now, Slowly

by Agent_24



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, post-reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_24/pseuds/Agent_24
Summary: They aren't ever soft with each other, not really.





	Sweetly Now, Slowly

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a prompt from the  Destiny kink meme  on dreamwidth! Someone asked for tender sex and ShinDrift and well. I am a sucker.

Drifter thinks it’s only natural that their sex got rougher after the Renegade was revealed to be Shin Malphur. 

Not that they were particularly gentle to start with, but the play-fighting they always did as foreplay is a little more serious now, leaves more bruises than hickeys and more blood than there should be. Drifter thinks that, if it wasn’t for his Ghost, he’d have a new scar on his lip thanks to how often Shin bites him there with more force than he used to. Part of it, he knows, is that he’s damn paranoid, and so he fights it for a bit whenever Shin gets in a mood and tries to put him on his back, when it used to be that Drifter would’ve jumped at any opportunity to just take it easy. 

The sex is still good, of course. And Drifter really does hate to admit it, but the thrill of it — the danger of having someone so quick and powerful putting hands all over Drifter’s body — is addicting, to the point that one night stands have gotten boring. 

So when Shin transmats onto his ship and waits out of sight during a Gambit match, it makes Drifter’s hair stand on end. He’s never really sure what the man wants, in spite of the answer most frequently being  _ to fuck,  _ but Drifter hasn’t stayed alive so long by letting his guard down, and this  _ is  _ Shin Malphur. 

“Startled me there, brother,” he says when the match is over, and finds Shin waiting in the Derelict’s small living space, leaned up against the kitchen counter. He says it friendlier than he means it, and he’s got Malfeasance plainly tucked into his belt, the cold it emanates seeping through his robes.     


Shin cuts a fine figure, arms folded and legs crossed, hood pulled over his head even though his helmet is missing. And that’s unusual; usually he waits to take it off in Drifter’s presence, like a tease, though Drifter still doesn’t know if it’s supposed to be mocking or flirtatious. Shin looks somber, tired, the circles under his eyes darker than they usually are, like something’s been keeping him from sleep. 

Drifter can’t imagine what that’d be, now that the bastard’s gone and  _ retired.  _

“Didn’t mean to,” Shin says. 

His voice sounds rough too, enough that it gives Drifter a pause. “You need somethin’?” he asks, since Shin doesn’t seem to be here to kill him this time. 

Shin’s brows knit, and he swallows, and he moves suddenly but slow enough that Drifter only jumps a little bit. He presses close, grabs Drifter’s arm with some measure of gentleness and kisses him even softer, and Drifter’s so shocked by it that he doesn’t even close his eyes. 

“You got a fever or somethin’?” he asks when Shin breaks the kiss, only their noses are still touching, and Shin’s skin is only as warm as a Gunslinger’s should be when he presses their foreheads together. 

“Guardians don’t get fevers,” Shin points out quietly, which is just Malphur-speak for  _ I don’t wanna talk about it. _ Drifter only has time to open his mouth, intending to get on him for being a smartass, before Shin interrupts him with another kiss, a little more heated and needy this time.

Maybe Shin isn’t here to kill him, but Drifter’d be lying if he said the show of affection didn’t have him spooked. 

“What’s the matter with you?” he asks, plain about it now that he's had to ask a third time.

Shin still doesn’t answer. Drifter’s not shocked. There’s been plenty of times where Shin showed up bothered about something in a myriad of ways, fucked, and left, and if he doesn’t want to say what it is then Drifter’s not going to waste any more time digging it out of him. 

Instead, Shin puts his hands on Drifter’s chest and pushes him to the unmade bed set against the wall. Drifter’s knees hit the back of it and he goes down easy. Shin settles between his open legs and pulls at all his belts and robes, picks up Malfeasance off of Drifter’s belly and Drifter freezes, nervous and almost reaching for it before Shin scowls and tosses it across the room. 

“Hey,  _ hey, _ careful with the merchandise!” Drifter objects, and Shin flashes him a look and reaches for the clips of Drifter’s armor. 

Drifter tries not to think about the mechanical way Shin undresses him; he’s done it enough times that he could get off Drifter’s robes and chaps and whatever else blindfolded. Drifter only has marginally more trouble. Shin’s always changing his armor so nobody knows him, but Drifter’s gotten into enough people’s clothes that he can make a quick guess at how everything fastens and snaps. Shin pulls off Drifter’s headband and combs fingers through his hair once while he’s at it, tosses all their shit haphazardly to the floor and kisses along Drifter’s bare shoulders intermittently. 

Drifter waits to be bitten, or squeezed tight or wrestled or something else mildly violent. Shin only pushes him to his back and licks along his collarbones. 

This is usually the part where Drifter would start wrestling him. Shin should’ve tried to pin his wrists by now, should’ve pressed him down all rough with that awful quickness and strength, but he’s gentle now, intimate almost. 

Drifter only realizes that he’s closed his eyes into the mouth roaming over his throat when cool fingers press between his legs. He never saw Shin grab the lube, and the tiny yelp of surprise he lets out is met with a half-hearted smile. 

“Warn a guy,” Drifter grumbles, breath hitching as a finger presses into him. He tightens a fist in the sheets, body going taunt before Shin whispers  _ relax for me  _ low in his ear, and goosebumps flit over his skin. Shin sets an easy pace for a while till Drifter growls impatiently at him, then adds another and crooks his fingers to that spot that leaves Drifter shivering and cursing, all the while leaving trails of kisses over Drifter’s body. 

The whole process is real sweet. It’s enough to nearly drive Drifter wild with nerves.    


“You gonna fuck me or what?” Drifter gasps after the third or forth  _ almost  _ orgasm; Shin’s been stroking his cock agonizingly slow and letting off whenever Drifter got close, and even now he’s rubbing his thumb over the slit like they’ve got oodles of time. 

“Gonna let me?” Shin murmurs, though he’s already withdrawing his hand. Drifter groans at the loss and drops his head to the pillows, only to inhale all sharp when Shin lines himself up. 

“Odd time to be askin’,” Drifter grits out. His hands are still tight in the sheets and Shin’s only pushed halfway into him before he grabs at Drifter’s wrists, and Drifter almost exhales in relief — this is it, this is them falling back into normalcy, or whatever measure of it they've got — but Shin just tugs his hands up to his shoulders,  _ hang onto me. _

Drifter wants to say that he’s acting damn weird, but Shin bottoms out then, and Drifter feels so damn full that the only sound he manages is something near a whimper, hands clawing at Shin’s back in pleasure. 

Shin is slow here, too. Drifter keeps thinking that any second now he’s going to snap into action, with his teeth and his rough hands and those hips rocking hard and fast but it’s damn  _ slow,  _ and Shin hasn’t stopped running his hands over Drifter’s sides and shoulders and jaw, hasn’t stopped kissing wherever he could land his mouth. 

They’d done it like this a few times before, back when Drifter only knew him as the Renegade. Before everything had come to light and before Drifter’d been angry and embarrassed and impressed all at once, before Shin had come crawling back to his bed and they’d furiously fucked the daylights out of each other for hours. Drifter still feels foolish for wanting him. 

Or he feels foolish for wanting just him, or something equally stupid like that. 

Shin Malphur makes him make bad decisions, and he realizes this — again — as he’s hooking his legs around Shin’s waist and tightening his arms around his neck. Something about Shin Malphur must just make him lose his goddamn marbles, because he has a split second thought that he  _ missed this,  _ missed those tender, oblivious moments when Shin was just his partner and not the Man With The Golden Gun — 

“Drifter,” Shin breathes, reverent, and heat shoots to Drifter’s belly. 

“Faster,” Drifter says, and in the back of his mind he’s dismayed at how pleading it sounds. If Shin notices, he doesn’t tease him for it, just rolls his hips a little quicker as requested, kisses his mouth before moving to scrape teeth lightly over Drifter’s earlobe. Drifter arches into him and Shin reaches behind his own head to take one of Drifter’s hands in his, lacing their fingers together and squeezing while he sucks a faint pink mark on Drifter’s throat. 

Drifter isn’t sure which of those things does him in, but it’s more akin to spilling a drink than the usual suckerpunch types of orgasms they’ve been giving each other lately. He moans and shudders and Shin swallows up the sound, fucks into him just a while longer before he shivers and goes still as he comes. Drifter just watches him while he gets his breath back, and Shin shakes with the effort of holding himself up. After a moment, he pulls out with a grimace, then reaches over the side of the bed and grabs Drifter’s shirt to wipe the mess from his belly and collapses on top of him, tucking his nose into Drifter’s neck. 

Drifter’s still reeling a little (and he’s reeling enough not to think twice about throwing an arm over Shin’s waist, or running his hands along the bumps of the man’s spine). He’s still waiting for his paranoia to be validated, if he’s truthful. “The hell was all that?” he asks, voice sex rough and dry. 

There’s a long pause. Drifter wonders if Shin went and fell asleep that quick until Shin answers, quieter than Drifter’s ever heard him, “Yesterday was the anniversary of Jaren’s death.”

Drifter goes very still. He’s heard about Jaren Ward, sure, but Shin’s never told him much, and what little he knows was spilled out after a damn lot of whiskey. But he knows it’s been a long time, long enough that the day goes by now that Shin isn’t so bothered by it. 

So he waits, and Shin adds, “...First time it’s come ‘round that I didn’t have his cannon.”

Drifter doesn’t say anything to that. Through a post-sex haze, he’s putting pieces together slowly, and he’s thinking about what it means that Shin touched and kissed him all sweet while he was upset, and he’s wondering what the hell he’s supposed to do when they get up. 

In the end, he wakes up before Shin does by hours. Shin’s rolled onto his side in his sleep, still tucked against Drifter’s chest. And something tugs there as Drifter slips out from underneath him to shower and dress, something that makes him feel a little hypocritical for telling his Guardians to mind their wants. 

Drifter pulls the covers up to Shin’s shoulders and goes to manage a few Gambit matches. When he peeks back in after a few hours, Shin’s already gone. 


End file.
